


The Sparrow Falls

by jeremiaah



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, Malec, Past Rape/Non-con, Red Sparrow AU, Russia, Slow Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeremiaah/pseuds/jeremiaah
Summary: Alexander Lightwood, a prestigious ballet teacher and prodigious former Sparrow, is forced back in the field to shadow Magnus Bane, nicknamed The Warlock, an international diplomat holding a dangerous secret. As the Sparrow and Warlock become entangled, it becomes clear both know far more than they are letting on. A dangerous game of seduction, tradecraft and violence begins, and both find their lives in danger.An AU based loosely off Red Sparrow.Warning for: Violence, and mentions of past rape.





	1. Rise

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, it's ya boy trash-clony (I need a new tumblr name). So this is kind of like a passion project- the idea of Alec, a ballet teacher (comes briefly into it), seducing Magnus for information seemed interesting and tense and drama-riddled so, yeah. It grew into an AU. 
> 
> Trigger warning: there are mentions of rape, and it'll play heavily into one chapter later on (because of Alec's character arc), but I'll warn you with the big chapter. I don't plan to include Clary or Jace at this point. I'll try and update weekly!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to followmetopromiseland on Tumblr for the Russian translations!

Alexander watches his dancers as they moved across the wooden floor; large mirrors decorated the walls, floor-to-ceiling. _The Rite of Spring_ peaked in the background, an attitude derrière and a pause. It is the sound of the studio door opening that draws his attentions. His students did not falter. He digs his thumb between his teeth, analysing their movements. In his peripheral, he can see a woman approaching him; he doesn't acknowledge her. 

" _Chto nada_? What do you want?" Alexander spoke fast, his accent thick; Russian. He snaps his fingers at the woman who walks in.

"You don't remember me? I'm offended, Alexander." Vera pouted, approaching the obsidian-haired male. She's young, thin. Someone Alexander recognises as a Sparrow, despite the American accent. "I see the outside has treated you well." She stops in front of him, running a hand through his hair.

"Vera?" Alexander holds up his hand, and the dancers halt. He waves, scornful. "You're dismissed. Be on time tomorrow, all of you." He mutters. He grabs her wrist, and holds it until the last of the students had disappeared behind the doors. "What're are you doing here? What are you using that accent for?" He demands.

Vera merely chuckles, and writhes from his grip. "We've been summoned. You should get used to using your accent again. The General asked for you, personally, Alec."

"Don't call me that." He snarls. "I'm not going back. That's not who I am."

"You don't have a choice, big brother." Vera tilts her head, the words rolling off her tongue almost seductively.

"I am _not_ your brother, Vera."

"Maybe not by blood. But you were once. And call me Izzy. That’s my assigned name." She laughs. "Now, if you'd like to collect your belongings, I’ll be taking you straight to the General.”

“I can’t.”

“They’ll call you a traitor.” Vera– Izzy shakes her head. “You know they’ll kill you if you don’t do this.”

“Let them.” Alexander clenches his fist.

“I understand, Alec. I really do. The target is a low-level diplomat, not even considered a _security_ threat. It’s a simple one, Alec. We’ll be done in two weeks, max. Don’t get yourself killed over it.”

\--

There was a life Alexander once lived. When he was eighteen, he was recruited by the SVR, the foreign intelligence service. Russia had treated him well, and in their eyes, it was well time he paid his service back. He was placed in the Sparrow program. A program designed to train young, attractive people, and turn them into seducers. To figure out the wants, and needs of another person, and manipulate it, sexually. To extract information by using your body. A life that Alexander hated.

And there he was. Five years after getting away from it, sitting in the same room, with the same superiors, frozen, not even taking a breath without their permission. Izzy sat comfortably; she was the perfect weapon. She could get half the people in this room, some of them second to the Russian President, to spill every secret they knew.

Someone drops a file on the table in front of Alexander. He pulls it close, his fingers digging into the yellow folder, opening it fast. He wanted out of here. There was General Korchnoi, the only important person in the room, three others, plus Izzy and himself.

“ _Tiho_.” _Quiet_ , someone orders. The room falls silent quickly. Izzy pats Alexander’s hand. Alexander regards her, almost venomously.

“Aleksandr, it’s nice to have you back.” General Korchnoi nods. “This will be brief. I assume you remember your training. Your target is Magnus Bane; his pseudonym for the time being is Warlock. A United States international diplomat. We have not been able to keep eyes on him. We need someone close to him. And our intelligence suggests he’s a… homosexual.” A murmur runs through the room.

Alexander shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “And you want me to…?” He shakes his head.

“Be a Sparrow.” General Korchnoi states. 

\--

Alexander drove his hand across the bench. A vase tips, shattering against the benchtop. Several pieces lodge deep in the soft skin of his palm, and he barely winces.

Izzy paces next to him. “I’m sorry.” Izzy shrugs.

“I was – you said it would be easy.” Alexander clenches his jaw. “How can you still support them? They’ve made us kill, they’ve let people – they’ve let people _rape_ us. And you’re still working for them.” He scoffed. He felt ill. His hands trembled.

“They raised us, Alec. It’s time we gave back. You brought in one mole and called it. That’s not enough.” Izzy raised her eyebrow. “We both know why you didn’t like it the first time.” Izzy chuckles.

He watches her for a moment, before walking towards her. “What are you implying?” He tilts his head, grabbing her by the throat. He slams her into the wall. Pain flickers across Izzy’s face, before she smiles. She drives her fist into his stomach, then his throat. He flinches away, choking, clutching at his neck.

“It was the fact they were women, Alec. I _know_ how you arrived in this program.” Izzy says, grabbing his chin. “Read over the package. Plan. You start tomorrow night. I’ll be there, watching you. Lightwood was always your favourite pseudonym, right? Use that one. Magnus is attractive. Maybe that will change your mind.” Izzy says, collecting her bag from the bench.

Alec stood there, hands on knees, taking deep breaths. An anger burned in his throat. He moved towards his bedroom. He pulled a black duffle from the bottom of the closet, and piled clothes in. He tossed it on the bed, hands to head. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t escape, and if he tried, they’d kill him. They’d kill his family.

Alexander looked in the mirror, watched the blood drip down his hand, and the red around his throat turn purple. In that moment, it was decided. He had no choice. He'd need to find another way out. Via the American. 

“Alec Lightwood.” He muttered. His voice had changed. It wavered between his native Russian accent, and the American. “Alec Lightwood. Alec Lightwood. I’m Alec Lightwood.”


	2. Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so this is Chapter 2. I'll update erratically to begin with, but probably Monday's from here on out? The chapters will be longer as well, it was mostly about setting the story up. Anyway, yeah, I hope you enjoy :)

Alexander stood in the archway of a cobblestone building. Night had fallen, his arms numb. The cold of the city has seeped deep into his pale skin and bones. He’s moved like a ghost all night; quickly, lightly. He’d been following Magnus for several hours, through the alleys, coffee shops, a museum. Now, Alexander waits outside a restaurant, an expensive one, watching Magnus from across the street.

 _Magnus Bane is an interesting character_ , Alexander thought. It had been a week since he was assigned Magnus, and he’d tailed him four days, consecutively. Not once had the dark male been to the same place, besides his hotel. _You are either spontaneous, erratic, or hiding something._

Izzy wasn’t wrong; Magnus was attractive. The dark skin, and slightly slanted eyes; half-Indonesian, Alexander knew that much. It was in The Warlock’s file. He didn’t quite understand the nickname. Yet.  

Alexander decides to leave after the ninth hour.

-

He’s been walking the cobblestone streets for an hour since he ditched the restaurant; there’s a blissful moment where he isn’t painstakingly aware of where he is. And then he is. And the world seems to shift for a moment. He can see their window. He can see _her_.

The home of Klementina Vanya. His second assignment. She was falsely suspected of being a traitor. It had been nine years. In the late night, at a bar down in Moscow, a nineteen-year-old Sparrow, seduces an older woman. _She’s lonely; possibly sexually-deprived. High-ranking, access to privileged information; she’s weak_. Alexander had written down, right before he made his first move. It was a touch on the shoulder, a short laugh. He’d been told he was attractive. He used it. He manipulated her; a touch on the knee to show interest. She’d reciprocated, her eyes lingered for longer than they should’ve. Then she invited him upstairs. To seduce, you had to listen. To listen, you had to make them think you cared. And she thought Alexander cared. Alexander emptied his stomach four times that first night. He felt sick. He could barely breath. He stayed on her for four months. He was forced into the sex, though he could never tell her that. 

He finds himself on her doorstep before he could stop himself. His stiff fingers push against the cold buzzer. After a moment, it rings out, and a short, sharp buzz lets him know the gate is open. He pushes inside.

When he reaches the door upstairs, it’s already open. Klementina's apartment isn't small. It's rustic, with plenty of space for both of them. Klementina and her daughter. 

It isn’t the first time he’s visited Klementina. In fact, he visited a lot. Not in the recent years, though. Klementina is a gracious blonde; the signs of aging only gently clip her creased eyebrows. Impressive for a forty-two-year-old.

“Alexander.” Klementina smiles. Behind her, an eight-year-old Natalya turns, and squeals. Natalya throws herself at Alexander. He catches her, and picks her up. She has his features; the dark hair, his hazel eyes. There was no doubting Natalya was his daughter.

“ _Privet, malen’kiy monstr_.” _Hello, little monster_ , Alexander greets her. He kisses her cheek several times, grinning.

“Natalya, say hello, _dyadya_.” Klementina says.

“Hello, _uncle_.” Natalya repeats, throwing her hands round Alexander’s neck.

Klementina watches them for a moment, before watching the smile flicker from Alexander’s face for a fleeting moment. “Natalya, go get ready for bed, okay?”

Natalya nods, and Alexander puts her down. She trod away. He shuts the door behind him. “You still haven’t told her?” Alexander asks, raising an eyebrow.

Klementina shakes her head. “She does not need to know.” She mutters. “What happened can be forgiven, but not forgotten.” Klemetina looks down at her hands. “In a way, this glorious country gave me a gorgeous daughter.”

Alexander digs his nails into his palm. “How can you say that?”

“Mind your tone, Alexander.” Klementina warns. “ _Steny slushayut_.” _The walls are listening_.

He huffs. “I don’t understand.”

“She comes first, Alexander. We don’t tell her, we don’t tell anyone.” Klementina states.

“You think they don’t know?” Alexander mutters, licking his bottom lip.

“What’s going on? Why’re you acting like this?” She asks, stepping forward. She cups his cheek. “Are you in trouble?”

He shakes his head, considering his answer. He wanted to lie to her, to say he was being paranoid. But he couldn’t, and he wasn’t. “I’m back in, Klem. And it feels like a set-up.” He gestures with his hand. “Izzy, or Vera – do you remember Vera?” She nods. “She’s holding the charges above my head. They’ve assigned me a male. I’m in enemy territory, in our own country. I have to _seduce_ him, Klem. I’m terrified, that I’ll take him back to his hotel room, and… and they’ll shoot us from behind a closed door. Two degenerates killed? They’ll celebrate and call it a hate crime, and sweep us under the rug.” Alexander breathes heavily. He places his hands on his knees, leaning against the wall. Klementina moves towards him, and runs her hand down his back soothingly.

“They’re not going to kill him.” Klementina shakes her head. “They need whatever information he’s holding. And you’re going to get it. You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m scared, Klem.” He mutters.

“Don’t be. You’re good at what you do, Alexander. What’s your plan?” She asks. From anyone else, he’d be suspicious. But Klementina, of all people, knows what happens to traitors.

“I don’t know yet. I am still looking for a way in. I still haven’t made contact.” Alexander huffs. Klementina gestures towards the kitchen and he follows her. She puts the kettle on, pulling down two cups.

“Will he be suspicious, if you flirt with him?” Klementina asks. He shakes his head. “Surely he knows how his kind are taken here?”

“His kind?” Alexander tilts his head.

“Bad word choice.” Klementina shakes her head. “I apologise.”

“He won't be suspicious. Nobody knows we exist, Klem. The Sparrows, we barely know each other. During training, we didn’t know names, we didn’t know anything about the other people.” Alexander mutters. “I’m counting on the fact he knows the climate. I can use that. Play a victim; he’s in a political job, so he’ll like playing hero.” He sniffs.

It is almost scary how easily Alexander could revert back into it. Klementina regards him for a moment. She is almost worried.

She slides him a cup of black tea. There’s a lull.

“At least he can’t get pregnant.” Klementina says absentmindedly. Alexander looks up. Klementina looks almost shocked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

Alexander shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He pauses. “How did you find out about us?”

“The Sparrows?”

Alec nods. “Yeah.”

“After you left, a General approached me. His name… escapes me. But he approached me, he summoned me to the SVR headquarters. They put me through several days of interrogation; nothing bad, just a formal procedure, I think. If they were really looking for information, they would’ve tortured me. It was a couple of questions, with an audience. They trusted you to get what you needed. I had nothing to hide. They caught them a few days later.” Klementina says, a distance in the way she talks.

“The person using your name, I remember.”

“They told me what you were, told me you were a passive means to getting information from people. Lethal when required… How have we never talked about this?” Klementina tilts her head, sipping the tea.

“I’m not sure. It’s never crossed my mind to ask.” Alexander mutters. He finishes the tea.

“Do you need a place to stay tonight?” Klem asks, and Alexander nods.

“Would that be okay?” Alexander asks.

Klementina nods. “Of course. Go say goodnight to Natalya. I’ll set up the spare room.” She instructs. Alexander smiles, grateful.

He walks into Natalya’s room, and she sits up. “Hi Alexander.”

“Hello. Are you okay?” He asks, gently kneeling next to her bed. She nods.

“Yes, I’m okay. Are you okay, _dyadya_?” She asks. He was used to the term now. It was affectionate, if anything, even though he wasn’t her uncle.

“I’m okay, little one. Go to sleep, okay? Baba Yaga will come otherwise.” Alexander smiles, poking her nose.

“Are you in trouble, uncle?” She says abruptly. Alexander’s smile fades.

“Not yet, Natalya.” He mutters. He looks up at the wall for a moment. The shadows seemed to darken, and shift. He could feel something pulling him down.

_\--_

_One, two, grand jeté, hold. Pirouette. Six, seven, leap, fouetté. _Alexander halts, as Stravinsky's _Danse Infernale du roi Kastchei_ comes to its heightened end. Alexander holds for a moment, before letting go, breathless.  It’d been hours since he’d left Klementina’s, and he could still hear Natalya’s voice in his head.

The studio is no longer empty. Izzy, slow claps into the room. Alexander's eyes meet hers, and he scowls. "What do you want, _sestra_? How did you know I was here?" 

"You weren’t at your apartment. I assumed you would be here. Lovely cat, by the way." She smiles, passing him a letter. It's an invitation; the lettering is fine, golden, expensive. It was something official. He slipped his finger under the lip of the envelope, his eyes gliding over the card.

“Tonight?” Alexander says, breathy.

“Transport has been arranged. Wear something nice. The Warlock will be in attendance.” Izzy waves her hand dismissively.

“I’ll wear what I see fit.” Alexander says, almost defiantly.

Izzy halts. She turns, smiles and steps forward. She brings her hand across his cheek. A stinging pain runs across his face, white clipping his left eye at impact. The noise echoes. “Do you know why they chose dancers to recruit, Alec? Because we are disciplined. You have a place, and you should know to stay in it. I’m not the coward who ran away five years ago. And I’m handling you, which puts me a rank above you. Treat me as such.” Izzy snarls, venom dripping from her words. Alexander nods, looking down at the ground. Izzy walks away.  “You leave in four hours.” Izzy says with a finality, as she walks out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Magnus will be introduced next chapter.


	3. Converge

By the time he gets to his apartment, he’s lost half an hour. He digs through the clothes; no suits. _What a lack of foresight_ , he shakes his head, a suit should’ve been arranged for him. Alexander slams the door behind him, pushing his back against it. He bangs his head against it, several times. His apartment is small; three rooms – bedroom, kitchen/living room, and a laundry/bathroom.

He walks into his bedroom, pulling his coat from the bed, and his wallet.

-

He finds himself on the Metro; the station reeks of petrol, and garbage. Several people line the track, waiting, engaging in idle conversation. For some, only the light from their mobile phones kept them company.

The blue train comes to a grinding halt, and Alexander steps on.

 _How are you meant to do this?_ He thinks quietly. He closes his eyes, trying to picture Magnus, but he can’t. It evades him in a dangerous way. There’s a glimpse of Magnus’s hair, how it stands on his head, lonesome. _Let him make the first move? It’d be difficult. Maybe he won’t go for it_.

Alexander looks up. A young female, early twenties, brunette watches him from across the carriage. For a movement, she holds his gaze. Something else flickers across her face; shame. Embarrassment. She had been following him since he left the house; and now she was made. 

He gets off at Okhotny Ryad, near the shopping centre. He glances around, catching the girl in his peripheral, before he pockets his hand in the hefty grey trench coat; he digs his chin into the scarf. He takes a deep breath. He steps onto the escalator. There was barely anyone else here; he could spot five tourists, two locals, a driver. He jogs up the stairs; the reflection of the marble pillar is enough for him to make out her silhouette. She was jogging too. _Don’t draw attention_ , he thinks.

“ _Dvigat’sya_.” Alexander demands, and pushes past the group of tourists, to a surprised _oh_ ; his educated guess is they’d brush him off as a rude local. He jogged up to the top of the escalator, and turn back. The girl was still following. _Breathe_ , he reminds himself. His heartbeat hammers in his ears. He couldn’t draw the knife publicly. _Don’t draw attention_ , _Alexander. You’re drawing attention_. It isn’t his voice, this time. It was Izzy’s. He presses his back to the cold wall for a moment, closing his eyes. He takes a deep breath, controlling the air. His heart-rate steadily lowered.

The station is labyrinthine enough for him to make an escape. He looks left, then right. He pushes off the wall. He didn’t have time to take in his surroundings. _Think on your feet_. He goes left up a large, decorated It is something he usually admired, but today, it felt claustrophobic. He goes left again, then right up a flight of stairs.

The overcast sky blinds him for a moment. The stairs led to a street, a large road. He can work with it. Alexander could see where he needed to go; three red arches. He could get into the mall, lose her in there. The sign to his left reads _Mokhovaya St_. _Remember Mokhovaya Street_ , _Alexander._ He can see the pedestrian crossing, and sprints for it.

He jogs across the park, hitting the stairwell he needed to be at. The shopping complex, Okhotny Ryad, is underground. He pulls the jacket and scarf off, and throws the hood on from his jumper. He folds the coat up, and the scarf inside. He could see the girl, across the road. She looks disoriented. He’d lost her. She smashes something on the ground, and jogs back into the tunnel.

-

Alexander finds himself in one of the more expensive shops; he can see the sky through the dome ceiling. Towards the back, there’s a particularly nice wine-red suit. Only fourty-thousand rubles. He picks up a pair of black Brogue shoes in his size, as well as a shirt and vest.  He clears his throat, before walking to the attendant.

“Hello.” Alexander says, placing the suit on the bench.

The attendant, an attractive young male, in his early twenties, smiles. “Hello. How are you, today?”

“I’m well, how are you?” He asks. Alexander runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

The young male looks away rather suddenly, and Alexander raises an eyebrow. The boy speaks quickly. “I’m well, thank you, sir.”

“What’s your name?” Alexander nods at him. The boy is pretty, in the cute way. Wide-eyed, nice smile, like

“Ivan.” He smiles. Ivan’s cheeks tinge red.

“ _Vy prekrasny_ , Ivan.”

“Beautiful? No, sir. You’re…” He trails off when a customer enters the shop. She browses out of earshot.

“It’s okay, Ivan. Speak your mind.” Alexander says. He reaches over, running his finger over Ivan’s chin.

“There are cameras.” Ivan mutters.

“I know. Two behind me, one above your head. Two at the back of the store. I was simply rubbing something off your chin.” Alexander shrugs, pulling his hand away for Ivan’s chin and shaking it for effect.

“Oh.” Ivan says. He looks down at the clothes. “I suppose you would like these.”

Alexander smiles. “Please. And the watch, far left.”

Ivan nods, and unlocks the draw. “Do you live around here?”

“I don’t. Do you?” Alexander asks.

“I don’t, no. I live about twenty minutes away.” Ivan shakes his head, bagging the clothes. Alexander hands him his card. There’s a brief moment of hesitation by Ivan.

 “I’ll be staying in a hotel, about ten minutes from here for a couple of weeks, in the Arbat District. Perhaps you’d like to visit?” Alexander suggests. Ivan’s eyes show a weakness; longing. They flick between the older boys’ eyes.

“I would like that.” Ivan says, as he passes Alexander’s card back, and the bag.

“Do you have a phone?” Alexander asks. He takes the items from Ivan. Ivan takes his phone out his pocket, and passes it to him. Alexander quickly types his mobile number in. “Don’t be nervous to call.”

Ivan nods and smiles. Alexander returns the smile, before turning towards the door.

-

Alexander makes it home with two hours to spare. He didn’t have time to wash the suit. Instead, he showers and does his hair.

He walks into his bedroom, toweling off. He slowly pulls the suit on, piece by piece, before looking at himself in the mirror. He is almost impressed with himself; it fits well, like a second skin, without being too tight or loose. It grips his chest, almost narcissistically, but he could work with that. On his nightstand, his phone sits idle. He glances over towards it for a moment, before walking over to pull it from the stand.

He tosses the file on the bed. _Magnus Bane_. _How do you work?_ It was a simple question, yet one difficult to answer. The way Alexander did it was safe; learn as little about the subject as you can. _Find common ground in the moment_. _Tell them what they want to hear_.

-

The first thing Alexander notices is the noise. It’s almost deafening; seventy conversations taking place at one. He can barely hear himself thing. Izzy’s on his arm in a breathtaking black dress. He can’t help but be thankful the attention is off him. There's no sign of The Warlock.

“Come big brother, let’s find our table.” Izzy smiles, as she takes a champagne glass from one of the waitresses.

“Sure.” Alexander says. He holds his tongue in a foreign manner; American. He hates the accent, but there isn’t a thing he can do about it.

The Grand Hall is named rightly so; the high ceilings are painted in intricate clouds and people. Gold trims run along the marble pillars, which line the room. A large, golden chandelier hangs in the middle of the room, showering the hall in a beautiful golden light. Alexander is impressed, to say the least. He isn’t quite sure what the event is for; he didn’t really care, either. He sits in the chair Izzy pulls out for him, frowning at her as she does so. It’s a circular table, decorated with plates, knives, forks, flowers and name tags when In the centre of the floor, a large sat. A large orchestra plays _Masquerade Suite: I. Waltz_ , as the guests slowly filter in.

Alec stands, and Izzy looks up. He smiles politely at a passing no-name General, someone who recognises him. Confusion flickers across the General’s, as Alexander excuses himself.

Alec walks around the edge of the room. It’s easy to move undetected, the bodies forming a shield. He finds Magnus’s name on the opposite side of the room. It would prove a challenge, but not something he is unprepared for. He returns to Izzy.

“Far left table." He mutters into her ear. She nods. “I need to excuse myself.” Alexander says as he stands. He walks towards the staircase.

As he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he looks up. The world slows down.

There he stood; Magnus Bane, in a tailored, shimmering black suit. Three earrings line his right ear, several rings, but no engagement or wedding rings. He almost looks out-of-place, if it weren’t for the freedom in his movement. Alexander makes three instant deductions; _carefree, guarded, sexually-content._ There’s a fluidity to how Magnus moves. He is even more attractive than Alexander expected, the dark features complimenting the small, gentle smirk that plays on Magnus’s lips. There’s a brief moment when Magnus catches Alexander’s eye, and Alexander looks away, embarrassed. He could see Magnus smile.

Magnus comes to a stop. “Hello, there.” His smile is charming.

Alexander double takes. “Wait, me?”

“You.” Magnus smiles. “I’m Magnus. Bane.”

“Oh – Alec, Lightwood.” Alexander mutters, shaking his hand. “I’m sorry, I actually need to use the bathroom.” He says.

Magnus nods once. “I’ll see you round, Alec Lightwood.”

Alec gives a faint smile, before turning towards the landing of the stairs. He jogs up the last couple of stairs, before disappearing into the bathroom.

-

Four hours pass before he sees Magnus again. Magnus stands by the bar, chatting to another Ambassador; Australian, possibly. The accent is difficult to make out. As their chat comes to an end, Alexander – Alec – makes his move. The Australian woman saunters off, and Magnus finishes the last of his drink, and turns to leave. The darker male falters.

“Hi.” Alec bites his lip.

Magnus admires him for a moment. “Well, hello. Alec, was it?”

Alec nods. “Sorry for disappearing.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Happens all the time. So, mister Lightwood, would you care for a drink?”

 _Stall_. Alec puckers his lips. _He likes the chase._ “Um… I don’t know. I should – I should probably get back to my sister.”

“Always in a rush.” Magnus waves his hand. “Fine, fine.”

Alec falters. “One drink never hurt, right?”

“ _Ooft_ , never say that. It won’t end well.”

“I’m hoping it doesn’t.” Alec whispers. Magnus looks slightly taken aback. Alec steps towards the bar, and Magnus follows. He places his hand in the small of Alexander’s back. The younger male stiffens.

“So, why’re you here, Alec? You’re certainly not a diplomat.”

“How do – how do you know?”

“Well, for starters, I’ve never seen you around. And your accent, it isn’t entirely American.” Magnus holds up two fingers to the bartender.

“You don’t miss a thing, Magnus.”

“I don’t. What’s your story?”

Alec huffs. “My story? Russian-born, raised here until I was ten, lived in America for fifteen years, returned a few years ago.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a dancer. Classical ballet.”

“A dancer, huh?” Magnus takes the glasses from the bartender. “ _He_ knows my drink, and hopefully, you’ll like it.”

Alec takes a sip. “What is it?”

“Long Island. Doesn’t actually taste like the ones at home, but it’ll do.”

“It’s sweet.”

“Like you.”

Alec laughs. It’s forced, but Magnus seems impressed with himself. Alec wants out of here. “Thank you, Magnus.” He puts a hand on Magnus’s thigh. Magnus’s breath hitches, and Alec looks up. He doesn’t say anything. “Are you okay?” Alec asks, innocuous.

“I’m – uh, I’m fine, thank you. It’s nothing.” Magnus tries to smile.

“Is it my hand?” Alec leans in towards Magnus.

“Yes.” The sound is weak. Alec tilts his head, sliding his hand further up Magnus’s thigh. After a moment, he pulls it away, glancing around. Nobody is watching.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Magnus shakes his head.

Alec licks his lip, and finishes his drink. He stands. “Well, I should go.” He smiles. “It was nice meeting you, Magnus Bane.”

Magnus grabs Alec’s wrist quickly, before the boy could turn away. “I’ll be at the hotel across the road. Room 924. You should join me.”

Alec’s eyes flicker between Magnus’s. The moment is slow. Alec nods. “Okay.” 

Magnus smiles. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this is a-okay. And hopefully, you like this version of Magnus. Also, I might update the rating to explicit because it's gonna get hella porny soon, but depends on the writing!!


	4. Intimate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I was putting it off, but I wrote half the chapter a while ago so I figured I'd finish it. 
> 
> **WARNING: There's a flashback (just a paragraph of Alec remembering it) that involves an implied rape, so please just beware of it. It doesn't go into detail, it's not the right time yet, but beware. As I've said, it'll be a recurring struggle for his character.

_Room 924_. The words echo in his head; Alec steps out of the elevator, walking down the sterile-white hallway. The hotel has the usual silence; the kind of quiet only rich people seemed to have around them. And Magnus Bane is rich. Alexander stops outside the door, taking a deep breath in, before his hand finds the door. He knocks thrice, before stepping back.

It takes a moment, but the lock quietly grinds, and the door slowly opens. Magnus sticks his head out, before raising an eyebrow. “Alec. You came.” He’s still fully clothed, his suit immaculate; and a quick estimate would’ve put the cost at four times Alexander’s.

“I didn’t have an excuse not to.” Alexander shrugs, and smiles gently. Magnus chuckles, and opens the door wide enough for him to enter.

Alec steps inside. It’s ridiculous; it’s the size of a penthouse. The wall opposite him made entirely of glass. It overlooks the urban sprawl. Alec’s mouth hangs open, as he walks towards the windows in a trance.

“I’m glad you like it.” Magnus says quietly. He steps next to Alec, gazing out the window. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Alec nods. He turns to Magnus after a moment. “Almost as beautiful as you.”

Magnus scoffs, looking down at the glass in his hand. The yellow light hit Magnus at an angle, sharpening his jaw, making his features look deeper. Alec could see Magnus’s guard crumbling; he steps forward, gently taking the glass from Magnus’s hand, and placing it on the closest marble counter. He presses his hand to the small of the other’s back, pulling him closer. Magnus puts his hand on the other’s chest, unbuttoning the blazer button. The darker male drags his nails down the Sparrow’s suit. “Flattery doesn’t work on me.”

“No? I think it does, mister Bane.” Alec says slowly, drawing out the words. Alec could feel his accent waver, just for a moment. He found Magnus’s gaze, running a hand down his chest. “Is this okay? Are you okay?”

Magnus nods slowly, as if amused. “Yes, this is okay. More than okay.”

Alec smiles, pressing his hand against Magnus’s inner thigh. His hand pressed against something hard, which accompanied with the Warlock’s sharp intake of breath, means Alec could guess what it is. The darker boy pushes his hips forward, and Alec leans in.

Magnus meets Alec’s lips, catching the blue-eyed male’s bottom lip between his own. They move their lips together, before Alec runs a tongue between their lips, and begins to undo Magnus’s blazer with his free hand. Alec pushes the other against the window. He grips Magnus’s wrists, pushing them above his head.

Objectively, he knows three things about Magnus. He knows the man is hesitant, which suggests fear; fear of prosecution, fear of being caught. He also knows that Magnus isn’t someone who takes it slow, which leads to the third; he likes it rough.

As Alec presses himself against Magnus, pushing the other into the glass, his chest tightens. He can feel someone’s hand pressing against his back. Running up his back, around his throat. He feels their hands around his wrist. _Stop_. There’s a ringing in his ears. It’s as if the world was flickering between two places; Magnus’s, and an old hotel room. 

Alec jolts away, completely detaching from Magnus. Magnus looks shocked. Alec tries to turn, tripping over his own feet. He’s falling. His forehead slams against the floor, and he can see the gleam of blood on the marble tiles. He could feel someone on top of him, crushing him. Alec pushes away.  Magnus steps forward, trying to help him up. He’s saying something. Alec lashes out, his hand clipping Magnus’s chin.

“Stop. Don’t.” Alec mutters. His accent isn’t American, not like it should’ve been. He clenches his eyes shut, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. _Ground yourself_. After several beats, he stands up, steadying himself against a counter. His head throbs from the impact, and his vision is slightly blurry. Magnus stands a metre away, holding his chin. “I should go.” He mutters, putting on the accent once again.

“You don’t have to.” Magnus says, shaking his head. After a moment, he steps forward, holding out his hand. The Sparrow stares at it, deliberating. He swallows, and takes Magnus’s hand. The older male leads him into the bathroom, taking one of the white clothes and soaking it with water. He pushes against Alec’s forehead. He doesn’t wince, letting the pain stab at him. Punishment.

“Are you okay?” Magnus asks. It’s a stupid question, but Alec nods. “What happened?”

Alec shakes his head. “Nothing.” Something.

Magnus frowns. “I know I don’t know you, Alec, and I don’t expect to, but if you need to talk…”

Alec looks up. He can hear Izzy’s voice, telling him to _land the target_. A favourite saying of hers. He knows Magnus wants to feel trusted. And in turn, he wants to trust Alec. And Alec knows he wouldn’t be helping if he held back.

“I get them sometimes.”

“Flashbacks? Panic attacks? What are they?”

“Something like that.”

It was his first assignment. He’d been taken from Sparrow School, graduated, if you can call it that. He’d been selected for his first assignment; it was someone suspected of being a traitor, a young Russian woman. Being forced to seduce her was bad enough. A handful of people knew how he’d come into the program, and they’d decided to punish him further by forcing him to seduce a woman. But it was worse. He’d done it, he’d seduced her, and he’d gotten the information he needed in under a month. One night, while awaiting instructions from the General handling him, she came onto him. He remembered her grabbing his throat, something she’d never done. He couldn’t breathe. She pushed him into the bed, unbuckling his belt. He tried to fight it. But he froze. He let it happen to him.

“What happened?” Magnus asked.

“I used to be in the military. Sometimes, it just comes back.” A convincing lie.

“The military?”

Alec nods. Magnus drops the bloodied washcloth, and guides him towards the bedroom. Alec pinches the bridge of his nose. He sets Alec on the edge of the bed, slipping his shoes off, before slipping out of his own shoes. “Well, I’m sorry. I can take the couch.”

“You can stay.” Alec says.

Magnus pauses, pursuing his lips. “Do you want me to?”

Alec nods, and swallows with difficulty. “Please.”

“Okay.” Magnus says, before sitting next to Alec. The former grips Alec’s chin for a moment. “You’re beautiful, Alec.”

“Am I?” Alec scoffs, looking away.

Magnus stands again, undoing his blazer and vest. He drops the on the floor, before stripping down to his dark underwear and pulling on a loose grey shirt. Alec watches the muscles in the boy’s thigh muscles move. Magnus watches Alec back, running his tongue over his lips. “Getting undressed? You can borrow a shirt. I don’t believe a dress shirt is very comfortable for sleep in.”

Alec nods, standing up. He gets undressed, leaving his underwear on, and replacing his shirt with a dark blue one. Magnus stands in front of Alec, clasping Alec’s neck. He kisses Alec. It’s gentle, and slow; Alec feels safe.

 _He’s just a target_. Alec says to himself. But right now, it didn’t feel like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was gonna be porny but it didn't feel right, so here's the update for now.


End file.
